Love Light
by thebestlameever
Summary: -"You just can't take a hint, can you?" "I think me standing here, in Colorado, should answer that question." Dasey Xmas fic.
1. Chapter 1

Here's my addition to the holiday-fic pile, lol.

Background: Derek's playing hockey, Casey's in med school. Read along for the rest

* * *

**Part 1**

**

* * *

  
**

"I'm coming for you."

"_No. You're not_."

"I'm already at the airport, you ass." Casey slammed her passport down onto the counter—paused—and then looked up apologetically at the airport attendant, "Oh, um, sorry, not you; my brother."

"Close family, huh?" The attendant said, taking it with a smirk.

Casey rolled her eyes. "You have no idea."

"…_not your brother_," Derek was grumbling on the other line when she pulled the phone back to her ear.

"Yeah, yeah, you're preaching to the choir here. It's just short hand. And, don't worry, nobody here knows you, so your precious reputation won't be soiled."

She huffed, brows furrowed, as she scoured her purse for her ticket.

"_Stopping looking through that ginormous purse; turn around, and go. Back. Home."_

"My purses are not ginormous-"

"Ma'am," the attendant tried to interject.

"And, I'm not leaving you alone in that cabin like some wounded puppy for Christmas."

"_That's just the problem,_" Derek growled, "_I'm not a puppy; I'm a man._"

"More like a baby with a credit card and a fridge full of beer."

"Speaking of credit cards," the attendant said more loudly, leaning over the counter, "I'll need yours. And, your ticket."

"Oh, right, right," Casey blurted, face scrunched sheepishly as she cradled her cell between her cheek and her shoulder, and rummaged through her bag. She tried to ignore the attendant's tapping fingers, the growing grumblings behind her, and Derek's series of rants. Then…_finally_. "Here you go," she sighed, "Again, I'm so-"

The attendant cut her off with a curt nod, yanking away her I.D.s.

"Right. I'll just, uh, stop talking then."

"_Now that would be a Christmas miracle_."

Casey sighed. "Derek, I'll call you back later."

"_Perfect. From the privacy of your *own* home, I'm hoping?_"

"I'll see you in a few hours," she said tightly. "At _the airport_."

"_I'm *not* picking you up_."

She huffed. "Then how-"

Click.

_That dumba--_

"Merry Christmas," the attendant said dryly, holding out her ticket sleeve.

Casey accepted it with a tight smile.

*

The thing about Derek these days was that she really _didn't_ know whether he'd pick her up or not. She'd even caught herself pausing for a good twenty seconds by the rental car station before finally sighing, and trudging towards the baggage line in defeat.

_If he really doesn't show_, she'd finally decided, _I'm gonna kick him in the face._

She was flexible enough for that to be a threat.

*

"_So let me get this straight_," Emily said, "_He *still* doesn't want you there_?"

"Yes," Casey said, fidgeting in the waiting area seat.

"_And, you still bought the plane ticket…"_

"Yes."

"_Even as he berated you on the phone and swore on his nana's grave he wouldn't pick you up?_"

"Um…" she chewed her bottom lip, "Yup?"

"_Casey!"_

"Well, it just sounds bad when you say it like that."

"_What? You mean rationally_?"

Casey decided it was in her best interest not to answer that. So, instead, she took another approach. "Em," she said softly, pleadingly, "He's hurt and he's alone."

Emily was silent. And, when she offered her own soft sigh, Casey knew she was winning her over.

As much as the "wounded puppy" label annoyed Derek, Casey couldn't think of any better description for him this year. After a humiliating loss, Derek had sprained his wrist trying to rearrange a referee's face. His Christmas gift from the league? A whopping fine, an indefinite suspension, and enough disparaging newspaper clippings to decorate a home.

Derek had been, naturally, pissed. And, instead of coming home to his family and coping like a normal person, he'd rented some ridiculous cabin in Colorado—and bought a fridge full of beer.

Marti, Nora, and Casey had engaged in all sorts of feminine warfare—cookies, crying fits, knitted sweaters—to persuade him to come home. When he'd finally stopped answering their phone calls, Casey resorted to plan Z: threatening to come for Christmas. The plan had, obviously, backfired. They'd ended up playing a game of 'chicken', until finally, in a moment of desperation, Casey found herself actually purchasing a ticket online with Derek shouting at her on the phone.

Now, here she was: waiting in a cold, crowded airport to fly to an even colder cabin in the middle of nowhere—all because he wouldn't back down. She couldn't count on two hands all the things she _wasn't_ looking forward to this holiday. But, every time she pictured Derek alone, in some empty, beer-infested cabin on Christmas day, something in her chest pulled. Pulled in that place only he'd ever found access to, and it annoyed her to no avail.

"I know it's crazy, and neither of us want me there," Casey finally said, "But I'm going anyway."

*

Waiting at the baggage claim, weighed down by bags, she felt the tightness start in her chest, then her throat.

_He's really not here_.

She felt a lot less like kicking in his face. A lot more my crying.

"_You're really here."_

Casey turned instantly to that voice, that annoying voice she'd recognize anywhere, and, _shit_, there he was.

"Shit," Derek said aloud.

*

He looked different.

He looked, well, really good.

She hadn't seen him much over the last few years, with her starting med school, and him taking his shot at the pros. There'd been phone calls, and texts, and a few prank gifts—neither of them would admit it, but they didn't do the whole 'apart from each other' thing well. So, it's not like that they'd lost touch or anything. It was just…he was _here_, in front her, up close. So close she could touch those wild curls of his hair, pinch the light stubble of his cheeks, punch the chest that had filled out so much since high school.

So close she _could_ do those things. Not that she would, of course. Neither of them had touched, or really said anything since their eyes had met at the baggage claim. Casey, for her part, was having a little trouble not staring, or smiling—although she resisted the latter—and he was watching her with this veiled, but intense look.

"You just can't take a hint, can you?" he finally asked, frowning as he closed the space between them.

Casey forced herself to stop staring at him and half-shrugged. "I think me standing _here_, in Colorado, should answer that question."

The corner of his mouth quirked just slightly, but never touched a smile. "Well, I hope you booked a hotel."

Her eyes narrowed. "Derek."

"Because there's no way in hell you're staying with me."

He turned on his heel and started walking away, and Casey huffed, groaned under the weight of her bags, and followed after him. "Aren't you going to help?" she whined.

"I think me standing here, not helping you, should answer that question."

_Unbelievable._

*

"Put your legs into it; you might pull something," Derek was coaching her as they reached his jeep.

She answered him with a steely glare.

"What?" He asked, leaning cavalierly against the trunk, "Where's your Christmas spirit?"

She gasped, the bags dropping to a thud on the snow beside her, and stomped towards him, the points of her leather boots stabbing the ground. Derek watched the slow, determined march bemusedly, his brows climbing his forehead. "You. Are. _Such_. An Ass," she grit out, shoving her finger into his chest with each word.

"And, _you_ are a delusional princess."

"Excuse me?"

He opened the trunk.

"You come out here—uninvited—force me to pick you up from the airport like I have nothing better to do-"

"You don't," interjected.

"And, of course, bring the pinkest, girliest one ton bags you can find-"

"They're Ralph Lauren."

"And, expect me to be your chauffeur, or something."

"Well, excuse me for expecting common decency from you."

"You're unexcused." He was in front of her now, only a few inches between them, and he reached over and yanked a wool winter cap over her head. "And, it's Colorado, for god's sake; not California."

He tugged gingerly, so that it shielded her ears and cheeks, and her head flooded with warmth, then her chest, because damnit—he always slipped in sweet things while being an ass. "And, please tell me you have something more functional than those J-Lo boots?"

She bristled. "Are there any other complaints you'd like to make about my outfit, or my luggage, or my personality?"

He folded his arms. "That depends on how much time ya got, sweetheart."

She leaned and in growled, "_All_ Christmas break."

His eyes flickered and it was like he was angry with her—which she expected—but also something else she couldn't quite pin. Finally, he grunted and headed for the front seat.

"Don't think I'm even _touching_ those bags," he called over his shoulder.

"Fine!" she cried back, "I'm a modern, independent woman and all that other stuff Beyonce says. I can do this."

Derek ignored her, starting the engine in response, and Casey breathed a determined breath.

_I can do this_.

"I can do this!" she cried, grunting as she _finally_ got the second bag into the trunk.

When she made it to the front seat, Derek was waiting with that damn smirk of his—and, no, she hadn't, like, missed it, or anything.

"I hate you," she hissed at him.

He looked unimpressed. "Right. It's your _hatred_ for me that got you on a plane to Colorado to _come see me_."

She punched him in the chest. Hard. He didn't even blink. Then, like some freak force of nature, she was in his arms, having lunged towards him almost instinctively. Her arms clasped firmly round his shoulders, her face in his neck, his hands awkwardly frozen on her sides. Derek tensed, yet didn't pull away, so they both let it last for a while.

When she pulled back, his eyes were wide with surprise.

"We haven't seen each other in a year," she breathed.

"But…we were fighting."

"We're always fighting."

He shook off the residual speechless, "…Well, I still don't want you here."

"I still don't want to be here. We're in freaking Colorado, you ass."

"Good."

"Good."

She shifted from where she was still sort of halfway on top of him and back in to her seat. He buckled up.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed—although she was trying to ignore that—and when he put the car in reverse, she automatically blurted, "Your wrist. Can you drive?"

"No, I teleported here." He rolled his eyes. "I'm injured, not handicapped, Casey."

Her face scrunched softly. "Does it hurt?"

"No, it feels like little bursting rainbows up and down my wrist."

She sighed, letting her eyes drift out the window. This was obviously a sore subject in more than one sense. "I'll just shut up and let you drive then," she muttered.

"_Thank you_."

*

"Oh, oh, stop driving!"

When Derek ignored her, Casey reached for the wheel, forcing him into a wild—but thankfully, non-fatal—swerve. He huffed as the car came to a screeching stop on the sideroad. ""What the hell, Case? What, is your gift to make me a ghost for Christmas?"

"Pfft—like I got you a gift." She rolled her eyes. "That's Tommy's Tacos!"

Derek looked at her for a long, baffled moment. She looked back, expectantly.

"…I feel like this is important to you somehow," he said, "But, I just can't bring myself to care."

"That used to be your favorite restaurant back home, remember?"

Derek squinted. "Well, considering that it's my life and I don't have amnesia, yeah, I do."

"Great!" She grinned. "Then let's grub."

"What, they stopped feeding people in Canada or something? We're twenty minutes from the cabin, let's just hurry back."

"But-But…" Casey felt her face falling unexpectedly as she whispered, "It's your favorite."

"I guess it was," he said quietly, shrugging slightly. "But, I'm not hungry."

"But you're always hungry."

"Not right now." His face was creasing with frustration. "Is there a point to all this?"

"Yes," she said with determination, "You're buying me lunch."

"Why?" he whined.

"Because you need to be happy, whether you're happy about it or not."

*

Casey had had to literally drag him into the restaurant—including a not so dignified wrestling match outside the car. But, eight minutes—and a messed up hairdo later—they were entering Tommy's Tacos.

"Welcome to Tommy's Tacos," The hostess said, grinning, "Would you two lovebirds like a booth?"

"We're not love birds," Casey said instantly

The hostess watched them quizzically. Casey's arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, so he couldn't escape, and Derek had her in an awkward hold, too, trying to pry her off.

"Yeah, and can we get a to-go menu, maybe?" Derek grumbled.

"Uh…"

"No, no, we'll take the booth," Casey said, flashing her brightest smile.

"Um…" The hostess blinked. "Sure, follow me."

*

"Our knees keep brushing," Derek grumbled, "I hate this."

"Well, I hate it, too," Casey cried back. "I've always hated this restaurant. It's tacky, they serve nothing but meat, and the tacos smell funny."

He huffed. "Then _why_ are we here?"

"That's-that's not the point."

"Like there's ever a point with you," Derek groaned, letting his head fall into his hands.

Casey sighed. Okay, so maybe the whole hostile kidnapping and force-feeding at Tommy's wasn't her best idea, but she'd been desperate. And—as her decision to buy an overpriced ticket to Colorado proved—she didn't make great snap-decisions.

She rolled her eyes as their knees brushed—again.

"Why are you so fidgety?" she asked.

"Why are you so _annoying_?"

"I'm trying to help."

"What about beating me down in a public parking lot is 'helpful'?"

"Okay, A) thank you for noticing I've been working out. And, B) it's not good to be alone for the holidays."

Derek moaned and slumped back in his seat. "Here we go again."

But, Casey persisted, leaning over the small table. "It's totally understandable that you'd take the suspension hard, that maybe it bruised your ego a little-"

Derek shot up a hand, making the sound of a screeching record. "Okay, that's enough. You can force me to let you stay with me, you can force me to feed you, but you _cannot_ force me to listen to this psychobabble."

"It's not psychobabble," Casey said indignantly, "I'm concerned about you."

"And, I'm concerned about how _unbearable_ you are."

She ignored him, reaching over for his hand, almost unconsciously, and just as instinctively he pulled away, winching.

"Derek," she whispered.

"It's fine," he mumbled. "It's healing."

"Well, let me see it," she said softly.

"_No_."

"Why not?'

"Because it's my life," he said, voice rising now, "And, I'd prefer if you didn't try to force yourself into every crevice of it."

Casey winched.

When she felt her back press back into leather, she realized she'd recoiled, too. She stared studiously at the salsa jaw, swallowing. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Derek was silent for a moment, but she could see his torso shifting uncomfortably in her periphery. Finally, he sighed. "Let's just eat."

*

**That's it for now. Please let me know what you think. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

* * *

_She ignored him, reaching over for his hand, almost unconsciously, and just as instinctively he pulled away, winching._

"_Derek," she whispered._

"_It's fine," he mumbled. "It's healing."_

"_Well, let me see it," she said softly._

"_No."_

"_Why not?'_

"_Because it's my life," he said, voice rising now, "And, I'd prefer if you didn't try to force yourself into every crevice of it."_

_Casey winched._

_When she felt her back press back into leather, she realized she'd recoiled, too. She stared studiously at the salsa jaw, swallowing. "I'm sorry," she whispered._

_Derek was silent for a moment, but she could see his torso shifting uncomfortably in her periphery. Finally, he sighed. "Let's just eat."_

*

"You gonna eat?" Derek asked, "Or just stare at the salsa?"

When Casey simply sat there, staring at the salsa, Derek rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

Casey ignored him, trying to pretend salsa was just that riveting, that she wasn't stung. Because, as much as she hated to admit it, as much time as they'd spent apart over the last two years, his words still had a way of kicking her in the gut. It wasn't that his last rant was particularly venomous—she'd heard him tell her to 'leave him alone' about as much as she'd heard the word "the". But, after weeks of arguing with him nonstop, weeks of him telling her he didn't want her near him for the holidays—or period, perhaps—after literally having to fight him to get him to eat a meal with her, the weight of rejection was weighing a little heavy on her.

There was also that pesky, tiny, miniscule part of her that _hadn't_ been dreading spending the holiday with him—that part her brain swore didn't exist.

She sighed and dipped the same uneaten chip in the salsa again.

Derek offered his own sigh. "Well, you sure know how to show a guy a good time. I mean seriously, it's like the sun's brighter with you here, the sky bluer."

His voice was sharpening, and when she finally looked up she could see his tense shoulders. Whatever she was doing—which, she'd thought was nothing—was apparently agitating him.

"What?" she finally grumbled. "Is my breathing annoying you now?"

"More like your presence," he answered instantly, although his shoulders relaxed slightly. "But if you _have _to be here, you could at least try not to suck all the life out of the room."

She huffed, hand smacking the table so the salsa jar shook slightly. "Ugh, what do you want from me? You've done nothing but complain about me since I've gotten here. And, then, when I finally 'shut up' like you've been begging me, you complain about that, too."

Derek bit into a taco, completely lounging in his seat again now as she ranted, "Okay. Now try that once more; with feeling."

She jammed her heel into his shin and he cried out, nearly choking on his taco.

"That enough 'feeling' for you, Der?"

"Perfect," he grit out, grimacing as he rubbed his leg.

Casey sent him a steely grin before reaching over and plucking food from his plate.

*

Twenty minutes and more than twenty insults later, they were exiting Tommy Taco's. This time Casey was not attached to his torso, but she did send a lovely swinging door into his face.

"_Finally_," Derek sang, rubbing his face.

Casey spun back around at that, squinted at the smile threatening his lips.

"Finally what?"

"Finally you're as pissed off about you being here as I am."

She huffed, folding her arms. "So what? You just want to make us _both_ miserable? That's your plan for Christmas?"

"That's my _dream_ for Christmas," he said in her face.

He smelled like winter and cologne and she wasn't sure why she was thinking about that as they began wrestling again, Casey aiming for his chest and Derek gripping her forearms.

"Why. Are you. So. _Difficult_?" Derek grumbled.

"I thought you _liked_ it difficult," she hissed back.

Casey grunted and tugged harder from his grasp, but, _damnit_, he was trying harder now—almost like they were struggling for real—and, _damnit_, he had gotten a lot stronger since grade school.

He started moving her backwards, their bodies moving in a weird, jerky sort of dance.

"Let me hit you," she finally whined.

"Um, let me think about that." He pinned her arms behind her back, almost like a hug, but not, and smirked. "Nope."

"Ugh."

"I let you win the first time…" He'd leant in, for whatever reason, and was speaking so closely it was a little distracting. "…because I was still marginally unaggravated by you."

"Oh, no," she cried sarcastically, "Keep talking like that and it might sound like you were actually happy to see me."

"The only time I'll be happy to see you is in your coffin."

"Pfft. You'll _so _die before me, all those tacos you eat—_u_gh, _Derek_." Her back pressed against metal and she realized he'd managed to forcefully escort her to the passenger side.

"Get in," he said, releasing her, and jerking the car door open.

"Whatever you say, 'Master.'"

She glared at him and the shut door in his face. Again.

He smirked at her through the glass, and when she finished buckling herself in, she'd finally convinced herself she was flushed because of the exercise, and nothing else.

*

It was hard to stay so angry when the cabin was so beautiful.

After driving through literally miles of snow, they'd taken a turn past a lake, and there it was: the opposite of the dusty, broke down shack she'd pictured. It was more like a cottage ,or a house even; with a quaint cobblestone fence enclosing the front, red trimming that was as endearing as it was cheesy, and a porch that already had her daydreaming about hot chocolate on a snowy night.

"You awake over there, Spacey?"

_Spacey_.

She'd missed hearing him say that.

"And, now you're staring at me," Derek mumbled, "Are you high?"

"Oh-no, sorry. I'm just 'spacin', I guess."

She offered him an awkward smile and Derek's brows bunched in bemusement. She glanced back out the window and Derek took his turn watching her. "I'm waiting," he finally said.

She turned back to him. "Waiting for what?"

He gestured vaguely to the cabin that was charming her more and more by the second. "You know, your inaugural whining. _'Der-ek! I can't believe you picked this ewwie cabin. Outside! In the woods! Der-ek, you're so irresponsible; I hate you!'_"

Her lips thinned. She tucked hair behind her ear. "It…doesn't suck."

"Well, of course you…" he trailed off and then blinked. "Oh."

When he just sat there for a moment, eyes wide and unreadable, she shrugged and slipped out the side door. She headed for the trunk and heard Derek's door close soon after, his boots crunching the snow. She reached to open the trunk when his gloved hands covered hers. "I got it."

Her brows spiked.

Derek rolled his eyes. "You barely managed to get these in the jeep without losing your limbs; no way you get them up the steps." His eyes didn't meet hers as he lifted them both easily from the trunk. "And, the last thing I need is angry mama-bear phones calls from Nora when you injure yourself."

Casey closed the trunk. Regarded him for a moment. Then said softly, "Thank you."

"_Don't_ say thank you. I'm _not_ being nice."

She raised both hands as if in surrender, and followed him silently towards the cabin steps.

*

The inside of the cabin was warm, toasty—which automatically won Casey over. After a few blissful moments of sighing and stripping off her scarf, hat, and boots, she took a moment to look around. There were two levels, with a long narrow staircase greeting them in the foyer. The downstairs, from what she gathered, was plain, but classic with wood paneling, two small couches—of course a T.V.—and…

"A fire place!" she chirped, leaving Derek and her bags in the foyer.

Derek sighed and followed after her. "And, I can see your keen observational skills are still intact."

"I _love_ fire places," she said, spinning back towards him.

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you I had one."

"Maybe we could roast marshmallows."

"That's a campfire," Derek said, slipping off his cap with a sigh. Messy, brown curls sprung free and she found her soft eyes lingering on them for a moment. "And, could you be any lamer?"

Casey ignored him, her smile widening as she turned slowly, taking in the cabin. "This is surprisingly tasteful." She turned back to him. "How'd you find it?"

Derek let out an impatient noise. "A friend of my agent," he mumbled.

"Right, how could I forget? Mr. Rock star has his own agent now."

She rolled her eyes at him and he offered a small, satisfied smirk.

"And, probably girls hanging all over you nonstop," she said without thinking.

"Heh. Wouldn't you like to know."

For some reason, in that moment, she _really_ did want to know—which was beyond disconcerting.

"And, Richard?"

She jumped slightly from where'd she'd been musing by the fire place. Somehow, he'd ended up right behind her. She craned her neck to catch his questioning gaze, and frowned. "We broke up. You know that."

"Yeah, well you guys are the dictionary definition of 'on and off again'," he said with an eye roll.

"Pfft. Well, believe me, the off-switch has been permanently flipped." She folded her arms instinctively across her chest. "I caught him frenching one of his 'study partners'."

She actually heard him stiffening behind her; the intake of breath, the rustle of fabric, before she turned to see it. She watched his jaw flex.

"Asshole."

"Thanks," she said dryly. She knew that that was Derek's version of sweet words and condolences. "But, the saddest part was that…I honestly wasn't that crushed."

His forehead creased with confusion and she sighed.

"There was just never that…"

She gestured her hand in front of her, between them, searching in frustration for the word. _Spark? Connection? Chemistry?_

But, Derek nodded slightly, his eyes flickering with comprehension, so she simply ended the thought with a shrug.

"He was too vanilla for you," he said quietly.

She arched a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Derek shrugged slightly, his head tilting toward her like he was sharing a secret. "Polite. Responsible…boring."

"He didn't seem too 'polite' when he was shoving his tongue down Melanie's throat."

Derek smirked, but not meanly. "He's an idiot."

Her eye lashes fluttered with surprise, her face softened. "Because he let me go?"

"Nah, he's just an idiot."

She blinked. And, then squinted as Derek headed back to the foyer.

*

"Here's your room," he said, dropping her bags to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Casey pursed her lips, nodding as she accessed it. It was a little small and dim, but homey nonetheless.

"The master suite's _much_ larger."

She narrowed her eyes. "And, let me guess: that's where you'll be residing?"

"Well, I am the Master, aren't I?"

Great, she thought dryly; so that comment wasn't going away.

She was scowling until her eyes fell on a rolled up comforter atop the bed. It was pink and fuzzy. Her eyes instantly darted to Derek. He shifted uncomfortably.

"The blankets are scratchy here and I knew you'd just keep bitching and moaning about it if I didn't change them, so, whatever."

"Yeah… 'whatever'."

She sent him a soft smirk and he glowered.

"I am _not_ being nice."

"Pfft." She waved a dismissive hand. "Like I'd ever accuse you of that."

*

After exchanging a few more light hearted insults with Derek, he'd left her to settle in while he—predictably—grabbed a beer and watched T.V. She'd rolled her eyes at him and muttered something about beer bellies and baldness. But, secretly, there was something strangely soothing about them being in the same cabin, her being responsible and productive, him being a lazy ass. There was that pull in her chest again, and she wondered if it were possible to be homesick for something even after you got it back.

*

"Please," Casey said sarcastically as she joined Derek by the T.V., "Don't exert yourself on my account."

She pulled a face at him as she plopped on the couch beside him and Derek simply smirked. She scrunched her nose as someone dunked a basketball on the screen. "Is there anything else besides sports on?"

"Plenty."

When he just sat there, _not_ changing the channel, she rolled her eyes and pushed herself up from the couch.

"Where ya going?" he mumbled, eyes still on the screen.

"To go plot your horrifying death."

" 'kay, just checking."

She sneaked up behind him then and whispered, "And, cook you dinner."

That got his attention. Derek spun around in his seat, and she had to pull back to keep their foreheads from knocking.

"What are you playing at, woman?"

She huffed. "Um, you're welcome?"

"This is part of your plot, isn't it?"

"What plot?"

Okay, so she knew exactly what plot. She was going to make him have a merry Christmas if it killed them both. She didn't reveal any of that on her face, though. Just smiled innocently, unblinking.

Derek watched warily for a moment, before sighing. "Fine. Whatever. There's some frozen meals in the freezer."

"I brought some food," she said casually.

His eyes narrowed.

"You know, in one of those one ton bags of mine?"

His eyes flickered, and she could see the conflicting emotions running through them. "What you'd bring?"

"I don't know." She shrugged and propped herself up on the back of the couch. "What's your favorite thing that I cook?"

His mouth twitched. She was breaking him; she knew it. "That linguini stuff," he mumbled.

"Good." She flashed a perky smiled. "Because—and I doubt it was legal—but, that's what I brought."

His jaw dropped. "You smuggled pasta?"

"I smuggled pasta."

*

Derek watched, stunned, as Casey unpacked her smuggled cooking supplies. First the jars of homemade sauce wrapped in towels, then the pasta noodles and various seasonings. He scrubbed the back of his head, regarding her with tilted lips.

"And, just when I thought you couldn't be any more whacko."

"I don't know," Casey said, shooting a smile over her shoulder, "It was kind of fun. I felt so…rebellious."

Derek snorted. "Sneak some pot over the border; then we'll talk rebellious."

She sent him a stern look and Derek rolled his eyes. He made a sweeping gesture across his body. "_Obviously_ I wouldn't pollute this Adonis-like temple; it was a joke."

"Okay…" Casey said, eyes skimming her ingredient list, "Pinch of delusion: check."

She sent him a sideways glance and he scowled at her.

"And just so we're clear…"

Casey started slightly, Derek having once again managed to slip behind her, his chest bumping her back. "…this still doesn't change anything."

Why was he speaking into her ear? Not that it, like, tingled or anything.

Casey huffed and poked her elbow into his abs, making him step back a little. Then she turned to him, arms folded protectively across her chest, "Why can't you just admit that it's not _completely_ dreadful having me here?"

"Because that would be a lie," he said breezily, "And, we all know how much you hate lying."

His lips curved up into a devilish smirk as he finished, "About as much as you hate _me_."

She glared at him. And, wondered if he'd ever uttered a sincere sentence in his life.

*


End file.
